The first time I heard Continental OP, the collaborative projectbetween Dave Pajo and Will Oldham, was on the label Temporary ResidenceLimited's compilation called "Sounds For The GeographicallyChallenged." I bought that record largely because of Continental OP'sappearance on it (I had been tipped off who the band members were) and,after listening to the playful but underwhelming song, regarded theproject mostly as a lark, never expecting to see the collaborativeeffort turn up again. But five years later, team Pajoldham havesurprised me by offering a collection of songs which serve as thescore/soundtrack for an independent short film called "Slitch." Onceagain, the project seems like a lark, as if the two were doing thefilmmaker Dianne Bellino a nice favor, producing a little chestnut:nothing as fancy or remarkable as the Dashiell Hammett character theband's name references. There are springy melodic tracks ("Faster"),Misfits punk rock approximations ("James Tired"), and simplistic songswith second-grade-music-class-instrument accoutrements ("Glock"). Themost resonant song is "La La La," an infectious Free Design inspiredharmony line which I found myself humming throughout the day. All ofthese sort of limp ahead clumsily with no signature sound contributedby either Pajo or Oldham and without any real direction, which bringsus to the film itself. On the flip side of the DVD is Dianne Bellino'sshort film "Slitch." The word "slitch" is an amalgam of "slut" and"bitch," and it is the appellation which the protagonist's bitter oldersisters assign to her because she is distracted in her behavior, aloofin her interactions, and (according to the sisters) often carefreeabout her sexual encounters. At our first glimpse of Slitch, she islying in the grass of some wooded parkland, having ostensibly justslept with the man next to her. She arises with a noticeable glint inher eyes, retrieves her underwear from the shrubbery, and is off. Thefocal point of the film is Slitch's interactions with the local surferdude, played fondly by Will Oldham. Oldham's surfer is as oblivious toSlitch's sexual advancements as she is heavy-handed in their delivery.He just wants to watch surfing videos and surf, while she just wants tohave sex. At one point they compromise and have ice cream. Besidesobserving Oldham, which is always fun, I was delightfully distractedfrom the film by trying to determine if the beach where Bellino filmedwas the same Rhode Island beach where I had spent a Fourth of July onceand a pal of mine had lost his car keys in the sand (they were latermiraculously found in a last ditch effort, but not before I had lenthim $40 to have a new key made. We are both still uncertain if that $40was ever recouped by me). Formally, the film is carefully shot andconsidered. It even has moments of looking delicate, such as Slitch'ssunsetted stroll on the beach or Slitch's silent mom grabbing a MillerHi-Life from the refrigerator, but nothing very engaging in terms ofstory or plot. The film's story is an innocuous Cinderella tale with nosense of danger or drama. Slitch's two evil sisters seem no moreoppressive than a gaggle of noisy geese, and her Prince Charming wouldrather jet off to Hawaii than bother deciphering Slitch's confusingmind state. We are asked to believe that Slitch has an alarming needfor sex, but we never really see this. She does not habituallymasturbate; there are no erotic posters of Corey Haim on her walls; andshe seems able to occupy herself with placid walks on the beach at duskwhile listening to her walkman. Sex seems almost as a healthy avocationto her, not a destructive obsession. The evil sisters ought to relaxtheir criticism of Slitch and take a moment between moustache waxes tograb a beer with mom. Read More
